


Shoot to Kill

by maydei



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Human, Biting, Freedom Fighters, Frottage, Government Agencies, Grinding, Guns, M/M, Power Dynamics, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an intruder in Lucifer's office who's resorting to some underhanded tactics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot to Kill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luciferious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferious/gifts).



> For _Luciferious_ , as part of the [FYSL Hotter Than Hell 2013 Fanwork Exchange](http://fuckyeahsamlucifer.tumblr.com/). The prompt was _Dystopian AU. Sam is a freedom fighter and Lucifer is a secretly sympathetic part of the government he means to topple._
> 
> This is shorter than I expected it to be, but I quite like it. I was meaning to include a little sketch thing but work got in my way. I'll probably add it in the next few days once it's done. Also, Jack—one of your other prompts punched my muse in the face, but that looks like it'll get long (and I couldn't find time to finish it before the exchange was done). So I'll be writing that and gifting it to you at a later date. <3 I have a thing for fallen!Lucifer.
> 
> I hope you like it!

It was no surprise that things were falling apart. Thing had been falling apart for years. It _was_ a surprise that there was anything left standing _to_ fall apart.

It'd been five years since the outbreak of the Croatoan pandemic. No one had known where it'd come from. No one knew how it spread, only that it was spreading _fast._ Good people had turned into monsters overnight. The government had dealt with things as best they could... namely, by setting up quarantine areas. And soon, those quarantine areas became, not quarantine for the monsters, but for the survivors. As opposed to concentration camps, there were _conservation_ camps, made and maintained to protect the human race while the government holed up in their secure fortress and effectively rode out what many referred to as _the Apocalypse._

Lucifer wasn't sure if he believed it was the end of times, but he knew that his government was handling the situation like it was.

There _was_ no economy anymore. And he knew as well as his brothers that the government took care of itself first. Those on the outside had to rely on their own wiles, their own survivalist skills, and... many didn't make it. If the Croats didn't get them, common medical issues did.

They _tried_ to keep a doctor assigned to each camp, but Michael said it simply wasn't that easy. Lucifer wasn't sure what was so _not_ easy about it. They had a doctor to every man in the bunker. They could spare one. They could spare _ten._ Those people out there should've been in here, kept safe with them. The thought that social classes still existed in a time like this was utterly baffling. They were all human. To separate themselves in a time like this was madness.

He hated the way that Michael raised his brow and said _those are the President's orders_ like the President's orders actually mattered when no one had _heard_ from the man in nearly six months. He hated the way that Raphael kept hold of the leash of the National Guard to protect the bunker, rather than sending them out to actually _fight_ the threat.

They could survive for _years_ down here. The people outside... they would be lucky to make it a month before the Croats cut the fences.

Lucifer sighed, his back aching something awful as he walked back toward his office after the committee meeting. As usual, the Senate had ruled to keep everything the way it was, to deny aid to those brave, stupid few that made it to their doors. It was a joke, but if he didn't want to end up out there himself, it was easier to keep his mouth shut, no matter how much he wanted to argue. If he thought that arguing might _work_ , he'd have done it a long time ago.

He flicked on the light as he walked into his office, closing the door behind him—

—and froze.

Standing there at his desk was a man dressed in form-fitting black, incredibly tall, too-long chestnut-rich hair pulled back into a ponytail on the back of his head. He was leaned over Lucifer's desk, typing urgently at his computer, and froze at the moment the lights went on. His eyes rose, gorgeously hazel-green, and not the muddy brown-red of the late-stage Croats.

A survivor, then. That still didn't answer any of the interesting questions. Lucifer found himself intrigued.

“Who are you?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door. The man's shoulders tensed, and when he straightened to his full height, Lucifer swallowed. An _exceptionally_ tall man, then. And, from the look of his build from what little was left to the imagination, amazingly built. Not just the build of a human that survived, but one that spent his time to gain physical perfection and optimal performance.

More and more interesting.

“You're supposed to be in your meeting for ten more minutes,” the man said, looking resigned rather than panicked. He was attractive—straight nose, pink lips, the shadow of dimples on his cheeks, long lashes. More than attractive, really. _Beautiful_ , if Lucifer was being honest, because _handsome_ didn't seem to do him justice.

_Dimples_ , his mind confirmed as the man pulled a gun from the small of his back and leveled it at Lucifer with a wry smile. “You should have walked a little slower,” he said.

Lucifer's nostrils flared slightly—no discernible scent. No smell of blood. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Seems a shame to die without even knowing your name.”

The man huffed out a strange facsimile of a laugh, looking incredulous. “You're worried about my name when I've got a gun on you?”

“Either you'll kill me or you won't,” Lucifer answered simply. “I don't imagine there's much I can do about it either way. Might as well satisfy my curiosity in the meantime.”

He snorted then, his head tilted to the side, studying him carefully. “You encounter this sort of thing a lot?”

“Not often, no,” he admitted. “But there are worse things to see before I die. Nothing like what you've seen, I'd imagine.”

A strange expression flickered across the man's face. “No, I'd imagine not.” His eyes flickered to his gun. “I'm Sam.”

“Sam,” Lucifer answered, tasting the name, making it fit the enigmatic man who had broken into a secure bunker just to mess with his computer. “I'm Lucifer. I'm sure you know that.”

Sam peered at him, that curious look on his face. “I figured Lucifer would be a codename.”

“Sadly not,” Lucifer replied, holding his hands up as he slowly took a few steps in, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. Sam watched him as he moved, his body gone impossibly still—but his shoulders relaxed minutely when Lucifer settled in, his hands folded over his lap. “But still fitting for a politician.”

Sam sneered at that, the first truly hateful expression Lucifer had seen on him yet. “You can say that again. You leave us out there to _die_ , to _rot_ —to turn into Croats, even while you sit pretty in here with food and warm water. Can't say I'm sorry now—not now that I've got a chance to point my gun at the devil.” Lucifer inclined his head, his expression smooth. He didn't look panicked, and that, if anything else, gave Sam some slight pause. “Aren't _you_ scared to die?”

“Terrified,” Lucifer agreed levelly, watching Sam with the sort of mild curiosity that would usually boil blood. Sam's expressions were just as controlled as Lucifer's. “I don't want to die, Sam. I don't want any of you to die. The Croatoans, they should be the ones we spend our time on. We should be fighting them back, clearing space for the survivors while you still live. To think that the government alone has the variety of people necessary to rebuilt society is insanity.”

Sam's lips pursed and he tilted his head, looking sad and curious and confused. Lost, almost like a puppy—albeit a hundred-pound Rottweiler puppy with filed teeth. “Then why don't you help us? If you want to help—why don't you?”

“This government is more than just me, Sam,” Lucifer said quietly on a sigh. He leaned forward, catching Sam's eyes and holding his gaze. “My brothers, my colleagues—they effectively consider themselves gods, and they'd rather sit back and watch the world burn. Maybe make some s'mores. They'd wash their hands of this whole thing right now if they could; they'd see all of you die, Croat and survivor alike. The fact that I would rather help—it doesn't mean a lot in terms of a majority rule.”

“Why not join us?” Sam asked, slowly lowering his gun. “Why not help on the outside? We need all the help we can get.”

“I would,” Lucifer answered, and then paused. He gave a quick scan of the room, but it wasn't like he'd expected to see anything anyway. Ah, well. “But I'm biding my time, Sam. If they believe I'm complacent, they suspect me less. I get more privileges. Which means that, if I ever see an opportunity, I'll have a greater range of motion to strike.”

Sam peered at him, those pretty pursed lips turning down into a frown. “Are you messing with me?”

“I am not.” Lucifer stood slowly, holding his palms out in what he assumed was an unthreatening way. “I admire you. You're clearly very resourceful if you've gotten in here without raising alarms. And as much as I'd like to offer you a position if you stayed, I think I like the idea of you out there much more. I think you have a great deal of potential as a leader. I'd like to see you rally the survivors together, and I have faith that you can. So I'm going to go get coffee.” Lucifer smiled like a shark and quirked an eyebrow at the intruder, tilting his head toward the door.

Sam's gun leveled on him again, but he was smiling. “How do I know you aren't going to get help?”

“You don't,” Lucifer answered. He liked this kid, he really did. It was almost a shame that he would never dirty his hands with politics. He could probably be beautifully cutthroat with a little bit of polishing.

Sam took a step closer, then another and another, and Lucifer felt his heartbeat in his throat as the barrel of Sam's gun pressed against his temple. There was fear in his chest and warmth in his gut, and Lucifer wasn't prepared to explore those feelings at all, not as Sam nudged him around with the gun to his head until Lucifer's back was up against the closed door.

“Thing is,” Sam said, staring down through his long lashes, “I knew going in that if anyone found out I was here, that'd defeat the purpose of _being_ here.”

Still, Lucifer maintained his calm, chin barely tilted up to meet Sam's eyes—not nearly enough to signify voluntarily baring his throat or making himself uncomfortable by bending over backwards to keep eye contact. This wasn't a game of guns, this was a game of wills, and Sam wanted to see him break. He would be glad to rise to his challenge. “Am I your hostage, then, clever Sam?”

Sam's eyes flickered down to his lips, unabashedly staring and unashamed, even as he let his gun rub down Lucifer's temple and across his cheek. He pressed the barrel against Lucifer's lips with a curious little smile. “Do you want to be?”

Lucifer wasn't sure how to answer that, given that there was a handgun pressed against his mouth and the firm body of an attractive intruder pinning him against his own office door. “What do I get out of it?” Lucifer asked. “Besides a bullet preferably _not_ entering my skull?”

Sam frowned, but his head tilted in consideration. With a click, Sam uncocked the gun and returned it to the holster strapped to his lower back. Still, his hands bracketed Lucifer's head against the door, and they were pushed flush together. It was starting to become a problem—which Sam noticed once he didn't have the distraction of a gun.

He grinned, condescending and wild and beautiful, and gave an experimental rock forward, grinding against Lucifer. A stuttered breath punched out of his chest. “What are you doing?” Lucifer demanded, his voice decidedly breathy.

Sam leaned down to nose at his temple, pushing their cocks into close contact again. “You seem like the kind of guy that's more focused on his work than screwing secretaries. I'd imagine your brothers wouldn't interrupt if they heard something like this. The word _'finally'_ comes to mind.”

Irritated, Lucifer leaned forward to bite at the column of Sam's neck that had been exposed. “I was willing to walk away and let you escape. You think _this_ is a better option, Sam?”

“I think _this_ is what you politicians call a _compromise_. Or, in layman's terms, a _win-win_.” Sam's eyes were half-lidded and all but smoldering as he shifted, pressing his thigh against the hard mass of Lucifer's cock. “So I guess it comes down to this—you gonna let me?”

Lucifer exhaled slowly, letting his head tip back against the door. “I suppose I will,” he murmured, though he knew he didn't sound nearly as reluctant as he would've wished.

“Thank God,” Sam replied, and before Lucifer could track his movement, his hands were hooked under Lucifer's thighs, picking him up and keeping his body in place with his own weight. Lucifer hissed, wrapping his legs around Sam's hips, and that seemed to be all the encouragement Sam needed to _pull_ Lucifer against his cock and push him _hard_ back against the door.

“Fuck,” Lucifer hissed, his hands fisting a white-knuckled grip in Sam's hair, pulling it out of the ponytail Sam had kept it back with. He tugged and couldn't help but grin when Sam made a pained sound in response.

It was painful. It was delightful. And when Lucifer pushed, Sam pushed back. Sam bucked against him, breathing filth against Lucifer's neck, manhandling Lucifer like they were fucking for real, flushed and panting like maybe he wished it were true. Lucifer replied with murmurs and rolls of his hips, and if he had one regret, it was that it had been far too long since he'd done this last and he wasn't likely to hold on much longer.

If there was a sound somewhere else, Lucifer definitely missed it under the rush of Sam's panting gasps and his own choked moans.

“Fuck, come on,” Sam murmured against Lucifer's shoulder, muffled against his rucked-up suit jacket. “Feel so good. Wish I could stay, fuck you on your own desk.”

Lucifer snarled, pulling Sam's hair until his neck was bared, and Lucifer bit _hard_ on the side, intent to leave a mark. He knew Sam would leave, but he wouldn't be forgetting about this day anytime soon.

And then Sam worked a hand in between them and pressed the heel of his palm against Lucifer's clothed cock. Lucifer moaned—Sam's hand was huge and hot and _perfect_ , and it really had been _far_ too long. He let himself falter to the beautiful thing trapping him in his own territory and shuddered apart as he came, thick and slick and wet in his pants. His one satisfaction came from Sam's hushed whine when he felt Lucifer's come seep through the fabric until it was damp against his skin.

Lucifer fully intended on seeing Sam through—or at least he did until Sam set him down on his own shaky legs and backed away, hair mussed and eyes wild, his cock a hard line easily visible through his skintight pants. He was flushed, panting, soaked in sweat and desire, his hands shaking as he struggled to secure his hair at the nape of his neck.

Lucifer stared at him, thankful for the door at his back that was keeping him on his feet. It was a small miracle that let him keep his pride.

“You won't forget this,” Lucifer said, even as Sam turned his back, shielding his actions from view as he slipped something small into his pocket.

“I know,” Sam replied, tossing a look back over his shoulder as he stepped up on Lucifer's chair, then his desk. Then, softly, “Don't tell.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Lucifer replied mildly, his lips quirking up at Sam's smug little grin, watching as the man's incredible height allowed him to push out a tile from Lucifer's ceiling and wrap his hands around the solid supports holding the rest in place.

“See you around,” Sam said.

“Certainly hope not,” Lucifer answered.

The man laughed as he lifted himself up with extraordinary strength, disappearing into the ceiling. Before the tile was replaced, he heard a muttered, “Yeah, no kidding.”

And then Sam was gone.

Lucifer let out a breath, walking on still-shaky legs to sit at his desk, rubbing a hand over his face and contemplating what exactly had just happened. A notification on his computer screen was waiting for acknowledgement— _Download Complete: c:\windows\user\system\security\national defense\secure missile launch codes_CONFIDENTIAL.zip_

Lucifer chuffed out a baffled, breathless laugh.

Clever Sam, indeed.

Michael would never see him coming.

 

 

 


End file.
